Death by Ennui

In her essay entitled "Edward Gorey: Mildly Unsettling," Karen Wilkin begins by writing, "If you say (the name) 'Edward Gorey' you are most likely to get one of two reactions: a blank "Who?" or an excited outpouring of enthusiasm." I fall squarely into the second category.

K introduced me to Edward Gorey during our early years back in Chicago, and his peculiar, erudite style certainly felt apropos of our unconventional courtship: equal parts art and cartoon, whimsy and pathos blended with a fine attention to detail. My inaugural foray was with his Gashlycrumb Tinies. (Check it out before that link goes away, as I'm certain it will.) I was fascinated by the detail in the little book, by the clever play on words, by the macabre nature of the whole thing, by how nonchalant Gorey dealt with the deaths of 26 consecutive children. Since then, we've engaged on a full-on love affair with the man and his work, buying everything we get our hands on, and sometimes twice over when we individually and simultaneously stumble on something that we don't already have.

When I saw this book available on Library Thing's Early Reviewers list, I quickly threw my hand up and requested a copy, and was subsequently thrilled beyond belief that of the 1318 members doing the same, I got one of the 15 copies available.

Elegant Enigmas is essentially a catalog from an exhibition that the Brandywine River Museum has organized, on display through May 15 of this year (2009). As such, I wish Pennsylvania was closer. I'd love to see it.

Wilkin's essay, the text of the catalog, is a good introduction to Gorey. There are certainly other, more well-rounded books out there that go into greater depth (a few notable offerings by Wilkin herself, e.g., The World of Edward Gorey), but she provided what was needed for a coffee table entry into the man's work. The work itself is the real treat, and Pomegranate Press spared no expense in faithfully depicting a well chosen set of prints. From classic examples ("N is for Neville who died of ennui") to one of my favorites, The West Wing, you get a good sense of the scope and breath of Gorey's work, what influenced him, and how his craft evolved. One of my favorite additions were his sketches showing drafts for a few pages with which I was already intimately familiar, showing me that he did not, as I previously assumed, simply sit down with pen to paper and see what evolved. (Not all the time, anyway.)

So, to bring this full circle, if you're scratching your head with a blank expression on your face wondering who in the world Edward Gorey is, well I'm not sure this is a book you'd be interested in. Check out one of the Amphigorey's for a good first impression. However, if you're like us and you collect everything you can get your hands on, this will be an excellent addition to your library.

Wild Things

What excites me most about this trailer? Is it Dave Egger's name in the screenplay credits? Is it the awesome Arcade Fire track (Wake Up, brilliant) playing in the background? Is it the name Spike Jonze, period? Or is it just the fact that somebody made a well-intentioned movie of one of my childhood favorite books?

Too soon to tell. Could be all of that. Yeah.

The Interloper: Official Report, Pt. 1

Day 1, 3:30pm - An Interloper has arrived. Mostly confined to back deck. Good. Maybe he (she?) will stay there for the brief time that she (he?) has on this planet. What a hairy creature. Odd smell, too. I will investigate further and report back.

Day 1, 4:15pm - Threat confirmed. Obvious hostile intentions coyly masked by playful giddiness. I will retreat to my panic room. Awaiting further instructions.

Day 2, 6:15am - I have gained a reasonable understanding of the Interloper's mission: to spray the house with a vile smelling, brown substance. It seems to be inconveniently stored in the hind regions. Surely somebody could have come up with a better design. The humans are spending a great deal of time both mitigating the risk and in clean-up duties. I am still hiding in panic room. Humans have allowed me access to the top shelf. I have no clue as to the Interloper's climbing abilities. I am on full alert.

Day 3, 8:00pm - Per instructions, I have ventured out on a reconnaissance mission. Interloper is confined to the kitchen area with the hardwood floors. Vile brown substance has not been emitted in 2 days, but (my dear lord) I believe she (confirmed) has "eliminated" herself a number of times on the floor and in the large cage the humans are keeping her in. (Damn the trailing preposition.) I issued the standard warning when I was detected and retreated.

Day 4, 4:30pm - The Interloper seems to have quietened down a bit. I approached cautiously today and sniffed. We touched noses. I am retracting my previous statement of the Interloper's mission, for I fear something far more nefarious at play: I now believe she intends to live here. The humans certainly seem to be supporting that assumption. Damn them.

Day 5, 2:00pm - The humans have taken the Interloper away, hopefully for good. I have inspected the house for remnants. All of her known accouterments are still present (e.g., variety of slobber-worn toys, the aforementioned cage, more hand towels than I previously believe existed), so I have to believe she's coming back.

Day 5, 3:00pm - Indeed. She is back and she has been to that damnable doctor's office with the needles and the faux-"treats" designed to lull lesser creatures into domestic compliance. (I am not so easily fooled.) They are clearly preparing her for the long haul in Casa de Lizard. I fear the worst. Must begin counter-measures.

Day 6, 9:00pm - Exhausting day. I must entice my humans with extra playfulness to make up for a complete lack of attention for the past 6 days. They are responding with love and attention, albeit at about 50% the level previous known levels. I will ramp up efforts tomorrow.

Day 7, 10:00pm - Interloper keeps the humans up all night with incessant whines and various other noises. She is confined to her plastic cage, but she is not at all opposed to eliminating within if left unchecked for too long (and getting all manner of foul matter embedded into and caked onto her fur). They rise and take her outside, tethered to a red band, at the first whimper. Apparently she's been using the entire back yard as her own personal litter box. Must be nice.

Day 8, 8:00am - I need rest. I have resumed sleeping with the humans as the bedroom is one place I know the Interloper has no access. But I must rouse with them every 90 minutes or so to check on the Interloper. None of us are getting any sleep. If this continues, I fear the worst. I will report back as often as I'm able. If you don't hear from me in several days, send reinforcements.

G

Note To Self

If you're trying to crate-train your puppy, but the previous owner/breeder paper-trained her instead, don't put paper in the crate. Makes a confusing mess for everyone. She basically thinks you're locking her in the bathroom.

K and I haven't gotten much sleep in the past two nights. Thursday night, b.b. kept us up with explosive diarrhea. She (and her crate) got 4 baths in 24 hours. The crate maybe got 5.

She has decided she likes baths, more for the rub down at the end followed by the warm blast from the hairdryer (which whines at the same frequency that she howls at so she sings along in unison; if I ever get my video camera working, I'll get a recording of that) afterward. But - knock on wood - her stomach seems to be settling a bit.

She hates her crate and makes a variety of noises whenever we put her in. Malamutes are known for their vocal range, anything from an actual bark (which is sort of rare) to a howl to a chatter to a moan. Wikipedia says this about them:

The majority of Malamutes are fairly quiet dogs, seldom barking like most other dog breeds. When (they do) vocalize, more often than not they tend to "talk" by vocalizing a "woo woo" sound (the characteristic vocalizations of Chewbacca in the Star Wars films are based upon a Malamute named Indiana once owned by George Lucas). They may howl like wolves or coyotes, and for the same reasons. When they howl, the howl is difficult, if not impossible, to distinguish from the wolf.

Thursday night, which was presumably the second time ever she had been put in a small crate (the first time being her 10 hour trip out here), this went on for 45 minutes straight, a cacophony of yelps, howls, growls, etc. K, smarter than I was, realized that if she could hear us (e.g., TV on in the bedroom) she would keep calling for us. Once we shut that off, she simmered down. Last night's various canine concertos lasted anywhere from 10 to 20 minutes each time she went back in.

Gus, on the other hand, wants to be neither heard nor seen. He's not a happy little camper at the moment. This picture doesn't do him justice, because you can't tell that he's at the top of our closet (that's the ceiling above him), but this is pretty much where he hid for the first 24 hours. Lately he's been creeping around trying to get a peek. But if I reach for him with dog smell on my hands, he sulks off in the other direction. Not that I blame him.

b.b.

So here's the story.

My parent's dog Nikki died not too long ago. She was a sweet dog, about 10 years old, who developed cancer in her shoulder. The vet told them it would only get worse and cause her more pain. She'd already been limping for a few months before they finally got it properly diagnosed (a different vet told them it was an infection in her paw... boy was he wrong) so they decided to just put her down and end her suffering. It broke my heart, but that was the best thing for her.

My parents are getting along in their years, both in the mid 60's, and neither one thought they'd get another dog in their lifetime, but (a) Nikki was their third Alaskan Malamute so they're clearly attached to the breed, (b) the previous one lived to be 14, and (c) they didn't expect to lose Nikki so soon. They thought they had a few more years with her.

So after the heart-wrenching way in which she left (limping one day with an infection that they hoped would clear up, to being gone the next because of cancer) they decided to get one more Malamute. They found a breeder in Kansas City who had a new litter and went down to pick one out. They found two they liked and had to decide between them. They brought home little Abby last week.

Meanwhile, K and I, sad at the loss of Nikki, finally decided to break down and get a dog of our own. I have always wanted a Malamute (as I said, my parents had three that I loved very much), but they're a lot of work, very head strong, and not something I felt K was up to, particularly with all of that fur that they shed constantly. So I suggested we go down to a pound and pick one out, just a mutt who looked like something we could handle and love. After all, G was a pound kitty, and there's something quite satisfying about rescuing an animal from a shelter.

K, on her own, got in touch with my Dad and said, "What about that other dog?" Between the two of them, they contacted the breeder and inquired about shipping. When she told me about it, she had already made up her mind. She didn't just want any dog. She wanted a Malamute. She wanted me to have one like I had growing up, and it make it all the nicer that we were getting Abby's litter-mate.

We picked her up from the airport yesterday. She was a little terrified from being in a crate for 10 hours and stuck on two different planes. She was a little hungry and thirsty and wasn't too sure who these two people were fawning all over her.

We spent the afternoon on the back deck getting to know her - close to the yard just in case. She spent the evening teaching us that puppies don't adhere to household rules. She's worked her way into our hearts already with those big eyes and big paws. She's going to be a big girl. Dad estimates she'll be a little small for a Malamute (based on the fact that her paws are smaller than Abby's) but still about 75 pounds.

I'm sure there will be more to this story, but for now here are some pictures to give you an idea of what we have in store for us.





Her full name, by the way, is Beatrix Kiddo. Bragging rights to the first person who recognizes the name. Without Googling.

Download of the Week - Dedicated to K

This song is for K. It could have been written for her.

I Like Birds, by the Eels. (This video was made by a fan, btw. Not bad. Certainly the best option out there.)



If you're small and on a search, I've got a feeder for you to perch on...

12 Years =

one      truth    worth    knowing  is
that     third    eye      which    sees
our      peace    of       mind     will
grant    power    over     my       faith
that     this     is       our      life

Increment Weather

It was down in the 20's earlier this week, and on Monday we saw our third snow of the season (probably a record for recent years around these parts) - the past two winters have seen only a light dusting each - and now it's all melted away and 80° outside.

What is going on? It's no wonder my sinuses are trying to escape through my eyeballs.

Watchmen

Wow.

I'm a fan of the graphic novel, so let me confess my bias right up front. But wow. What a great movie. No, scratch that. What a great adaptation of the book. Yes, Alan Moore, I said it. The <quote>unfilmable<un-quote> has been filmed, and Zack Snyder did a terrific job. The movie is about as faithful as it could be and still come in under 5 hours (way under 5 hours, it did). It is as beautiful a creation on celluloid today as Dave Gibbons' artwork was on paper back in the 80's. And the story is an earnest a representation of, I believe, Moore's every intention.*

Opinions on this movie will vary. I'm already reading a groundswell of criticism around staying too true to a story best left on the printed page. Sure. I get that. But Snyder had a heck of a challenge in creating something to appeal to the uninitiated yet also appease the rabid fanbase. I think he did an admirable job. It would have been, perhaps, a better movie if it were streamlined a little more, but it would have lost something precious along the way.

If you're a fan of the graphic novel, I recommend it. If you're curious and can handle some extreme violence, I recommend it. And if so, go see it in the theater. Visually, it's one of the most stunning movies I've seen since... I don't know when.

For the uninitiated, here's a brief summary of the plot, which will help you make sense of the convolutions going on but won't give anything away:

In 1985, an alternate America has won the Vietnam war, with Richard Nixon still in the White House, and now the world is on the brink of nuclear disaster. The cold war is being tracked by a doomsday clock who's minute-hand inches towards midnight at each new threat. Midnight will toll with the assumed imminent launch of tens of thousands of nuclear missiles aimed at destroying the world several thousand times over. The movie starts with the clock reading just a few minutes to midnight.

The Vietnam War was won thanks to Dr. Manhattan (Billy Crudup), a former physicist who was caught in an experiment which disintegrated him down to the molecular level but gave him with the ability to change matter at will (including his own, thankfully, as he put himself back together again into the rather impressive form of a large, blue, glowing naked man with relatively little modesty) including the ability to see his own future, who stepped into the rice paddies and blasted the Vietcong into smithereens in six days, giving us our victory.

The Russians see him as a threat, the coldness of a cold war depending on a stalemate between the two superpowers, something difficult to maintain when the other side has a demigod keeping watch, and they continue to stockpile their nukes higher and higher assuming that he could stop perhaps 99% of all of their simultaneously launched missiles, but even the 1% left would destroy the bulk of the U.S. well enough.

Aside from Dr. Manhattan, costumed vigilantes are outlawed. Apparently there has been a rash of them since World War II, starting with a group known as the Minutemen formed in the 30's to clean up the prohibition-era streets and help stop crime, regular men and women without any superpowers at all (except an innate ability to kick ass) but a common goal to right wrongs and help protect (if not serve). One of them was the Comedian, a larger-than-life character with no moral center; a questionable one, at best.

One by one the Minutemen are retired, something that was woven into scenes throughout the entire graphic novel, but which Snyder cleverly condensed into a brilliant series of flashbacks during the opening credits (with Bob Dylan's The Times They Are A-Changin' playing in the background), and now, in the relatively more modern era, a new group of costumed heroes called the Watchmen has formed. Modern times means modern criminals and perhaps a more modern approach to vigilante justice, and the Watchmen became a little too enthusiastic in their pursuits, prompting the oft-graffiti'd phrase displayed on walls in the background: "Who watches the Watchmen?" Thus the ban on costumed heroes.

(Naked blue supermen tilting the balance of the cold war in America's favor: notwithstanding.)

The Watchmen are/were:

• Nite Owl (Patrick Wilson) who no longer flies his owl-ship through the night looking for evil-doers but has grown bored in his civilian life, and soft because of it
• Ozymandias (Matthew Goode), the self-proclaimed "world's smartest man," now a billionaire trying to eliminate human dependency on fossil fuels
• Silk Spectre (Malin Akerman), a.k.a. Dr. Manhattan's girlfriend, who find her life unfulfilled living with someone who views human existence no more or less altered by such trivial matters as life and/or death
• Rorschach (Jackie Earle Haley), the last remaining vigilante who gives fuck-all about the outlawed nature of his mask, continues to fight crime in the shadows of the night
  

The movie starts with the Comedian, now in his 60's and ostensibly retired, being violently thrown through the plate glass window of his high-rise apartment followed by Rorshach's investigation into his murder, and unfolds as an interlocking series of plots that culminate in a philosophical battle for the survival of all mankind. Seriously. I won't give anything away more than that, but yeah, seriously.

One word of caution to those uninitiated (probably scant few reading these pages): don't go in expecting the Justice League or the X-Men. This isn't a story about superheroes, per se, but a story about extraordinary people (most of whom are innately ordinary at the molecular level) in extraordinary times. And for you chillun's out there too young to remember the 80's, those huge glasses that Patrick Wilson wears were once stylish. Deal with it.

* Moore, being the complete dick that he is (see my ramblings about him back at the bottom of my review of this movie) won't watch it, so we'll never know. But I truly believe Snyder wanted to honor the man's work to the very best of his ability.

Nikki

My parents' dog, Nikki, died yesterday. I'm still very sad. K and I were there almost 10 years ago when Dad brought her home, just a little fuzz ball of energy with way too large paws. His third Alaskan Malamute, a tradition dating back my entire life. These are wonderful family dogs if you've got the energy and the will to keep them in line. Nikki kept Dad company as Mom went back to school several years ago and, while working at the same time, spent many nights in a row up in her office working on her dissertation. When I would come home for a visit, she was always there waiting for me at the door. Her purpose seemed to be to get as much of her long hair all over my clothes as possible, mixed in with a little slobber and drool, and to dig her too-long toenails into my arms, but there was a boundless amount of love there for anybody who wanted it. And she's gone. There is a hole in my heart today that will be hard to fill.

I'll dig out some pictures and post them later if you're curious.